


The bruising of red roses

by Elizabeth G (WhiteCloud)



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Angst, Brain Fever, Drama, Emotional Trauma, F/F, Female Gethin, Female Jonathan, Gender or Sex Swap, Gethin is a bookshop owner and LGBT-activist, Happy Ending, Homelessness, Jonathan is homeless, Mentions of HIV, Mentions of Prostitution, Self-Sacrifice, True Love, halloween decorations, it’s not too bad, migraines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteCloud/pseuds/Elizabeth%20G
Summary: For Gethin, the main purpose in life was to find the loved one. She tried everything she could think of but has been left hurt. One day a stranger woman on the street caught her eye, and from that moment Gethin couldn’t regain her calmness. Jonathan has been homeless for a long, because of private reasons. She learned to enjoy life on the street and didn’t feel she could refuse it for the sake of love. Gethin didn’t see another way but to abandon her shop and become homeless herself. Thus, she would be with Jonathan.
Relationships: Gethin/Jonathan (Pride)





	The bruising of red roses

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, Jonathan and Gethin are girls in this story! They inspired me like that, so I decided to allow myself the freedom and turn them both into female characters. I imagined only Jonathan as a woman at first. Gethin is a lovely man, of course, but considering he runs LGBT-shop, I felt uncomfortable to make him a straight character…If you’re too confused, I may advise imagining Gethin as Audrey Hepburn and Jonathan as Katherine Deneuve :) It worked well for me at least. And also, I think Audrey and Katherine would’ve made an interesting couple ;)

"We don't plan to make the action huge. About fifty persons will gather or so. But we need the posters, banners, and flags," Mike kept talking, firmly holding her by the elbow.  


Gethin was toddling at his side, dragging a bloated tote from a grocery. She was leaning towards Mike to show her interest and compassionate support, and also just because she didn't usually hear people well. But she wanted to help, of course. She was happy to be able to. 

Recently a pair of teenage girls had been thrown out of the shopping mall because of a simple kiss on the lips. It was horrible, so Gethin had immediately appreciated Mike's idea to organize the protest walk. 

"I've already come up with some slogans, but you better have a look at them first, because I'm often too...obsessive, as you know." 

Gethin let out something similar to "sure", striving to make it sound lively, to show the strength she should have had. It would be useful to know more about Mike's plans, to invite him for coffee and conversation about all the details until early evening—

If only her head didn't become so painfully full, her breathing rough, and shoulders wet from sweat. There wasn't a coherent reason for her to shiver so much though. Gethin shut her eyes, blinded by the afternoon sun, and when she started blinking her gaze clung to a woman, sitting in front of a garbage can. 

She was meticulously sorting the trash, putting the remains of food on one side and the fabric on another. Her hands were tanned and most likely dirty; they also looked thin, strong, veiny, and a little shaking. The woman cradled a pink cotton pillow and then pressed it close to her body.

The pillow was dusty but it fitted the woman's careless appearance. The short ginger strands of hair scattered on the orange synthetic of her worn-out wind coat. 

"Also, all the participants can hold sunflowers during the protest. Because the girl had presented to her lover a bouquet of sunflowers. It would be the symbol." 

The woman lifted her head at the feeling of Gethin's nervous glance, and that's when Gethin stumbled terribly, not quite falling on the knees but relentlessly dropping all of her groceries on the harsh pavement. 

The small autumn apples rolled ahead along with the lemons, and pears, and the round package of butter. All ten eggs crashed against the ground, smearing the street with wet sticky spots. The worst happened to the carton box of milk, ripped and opened after the hit, having blown like a little bomb of white sweetness. 

"Oh, Geth," Mike sighed without reproach. 

He kneeled to gather the eggshells, while Gethin was chasing the still moving fruits. She thought she would stumble and fall once more, to ruin completely the food and her clothes — everything to make herself look miserable. But the pavement, the air, and the sun showed mercy, so she remained on her feet. 

She was conscious that the woman near the garbage can has seen the whole scene, and it made Gethin's face change from flushed to white, then backward. 

"Geth, I hope you're alright? Your head isn't spinning or something?" 

"No. I'm fine," she swallowed heavily. 

Mike gathered the shells in the pile and started towards the can. The woman was still sitting there, watching them hesitantly, so Mike's trip looked extremely awkward, at least for Gethin. It was her fault. They were throwing away the food which could help those who were starving. Gethin would probably not sleep well today. 

She didn't meet the woman's gaze, frozen and obediently waiting for Mike's return. He lowered the milk box into the can, nodded to the woman in casual "I'm sorry", and hurried back to his friend. 

"Don't hate yourself for that, Geth," he patted her gently on the shoulder before grasping her elbow again. 

Gethin viewed the remains of food, glaring at her a bit reproachfully from the tote: the bruised apples, dusty lemons, and the spoiled package of butter. 

"So...What about the slogans?" she asked in hope of distracting herself from the painful accident, while her mind has already entwined with the woman on the street, with the heaps of helpful trash, and the silent pavement, sticky from the raw eggs and splashes of milk.

-

The second time they met, the woman was not alone. She was sitting on the mat not far away from the garbage can, surrounded by a bunch of Gypsies, chatting to her in vivid accents.  


There were women in the chiffon flowered skirts, lowcut blouses, and scarves on top of the raven hair. They were making wide gestures, so for a few moments, Gethin's attention clung to their sparkling eloquent accessories: agate, ruby rings; cat-eye, feathery, pearl necklaces; heavy bracelets and big golden earrings. They had been leisurely smoking, laughing about something, until one of the Gypsies spotted Gethin, standing with her mouth open and with an awkward, bulky tote, straining her arm. 

"Honey," she called, grinning. "Your eyes are deeper than night. Don't you have the Gypsy blood?" 

Gethin shook her head, then shrugged. All her relatives came from Wales and Britain as far as she knew, but there was always a place for a curious possibility. 

"Can I read your palm?" 

Gethin gasped from nervousness but suddenly couldn't find a reason to refuse. She approached the party, surprised at the friendly atmosphere. The Gypsy woman in front of her had a plump opened face which seemed honest and generous to Gethin, not bearing an intention to mock or rob her. 

She felt the soft, apologetic gaze of the homeless woman. It wasn't worried though, not hinting at the danger. Gethin thought how nice and funny the woman was looking among these people — colorful and loud like them, but despite being tanned she was nevertheless so very white, fair-haired, and blue-eyed. 

"I have only twenty pounds in cash. But I can also give you some groceries from my bag," Gethin warned them breathlessly and shook her tote. 

The Gypsy woman smiled at her, not saying anything about the bargain though. She asked Gethin to raise both of her hands. 

"What a gentle heart line you've got, my dear," she then commented absentmindedly, gliding her thumb over the creaks of Gethin's skin. "You're a reserved person. You're independent and do not rely on social expectations. You're starving to find the loved one and you have been hurt because of that. I see love on your heart line, although it's standing close to disease and death. Don't be discouraged, sweetheart. Look carefully because someone already loves you." 

Gethin winced at that. Meanwhile, the blue gaze on her became even more apologetic. 

"Girls, can you spare us a minute?" 

The Gypsies grinned in answer. 

Gethin didn't understand the point, because they started to chatter in their native language, obediently leaving though. 

"Sorry," the woman muttered under her breath, not looking at Gethin's face anymore. "I'm glad they didn't pick up their guitar and fiddle today. Might've forced you to dance," she made a pause after Gethin's chuckle. "Aren't you Gypsy?" 

"I'm not. Are you?" 

"Not by blood certainly. Listen, um…I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I know why you’ve come." 

"Yes," Gethin shook her tote once more — the bag squeezed timidly as well as the owner. "That scene yesterday was so embarrassing. But such things occur to me frequently, really. So, I'm sorry." 

"You don't have a reason to be." 

"Here. I've brought some doughnuts for you. They are fruit and cream flavored, with chocolate glaze and nuts. I didn't know what you like. And also I understand that you need healthy food. It was a shame yesterday when I destroyed so many groceries. I could make a pie of them, for example, and feed you." 

The woman let out a giggle. 

"I don't mind being hungry. You shouldn't worry." 

"You don't mind?” Gethin stumbled, dismissed a grievous thought. “What would you like to get as a present? Just generally.”

“Um… Sweets for Halloween? I like the ones with jelly filling: cherries or strawberries. Kidding. Not a sweet tooth, really,” she paused, enjoying the moment while they both were merely smiling. “If I wished to get a present I’d chose makeup. My eyes like bright and warm shades. Also, I’m an actress. But you shouldn’t bring me anything, that was only dreaming.”

Gethin blinked, puzzled. The woman took notice of that movement. 

“You have so expressive black eyes. Aren’t you an actress?”

“No, khm...I’m not an artistic person, unfortunately. I like books. But I’m not a writer. People say, I read a lot because I’m shy,” she tilted her head to study the unruly parts of the pavement; her gray snickers turned out to be so dusty. 

“Sensitive,” the woman corrected softly.

“My eyes aren’t black, by the way. They are brown.”

“Maybe they blacken when you’re sad.”

Gethin felt how her cheeks became a deep pink. 

“I’m Jonathan.”

Gethin bit her lip, stepping closer to the woman. She imagined Jonathan under the bright light of the stage, glowing like a sunflower. A sunflower—

“I am Gethin.”

Jonathan didn’t give her a hand, probably because it was dirty after touching the garbage. Gethin cared about the hygiene but only sometimes, so she nodded, not hiding her anxiousness, pleading the woman to answer. Jonathan strengthened her arm reluctantly, letting the smile appear in the hollows of her cheeks though. Her hand felt sticky, calloused, and gentle.

Jonathan opened her mouth, probably to remind Gethin that she had to wash her hand after. But she changed her mind and instead said,

“Don’t take my words about makeup seriously. I’m not in the mood for presents, not now.”

Gethin flinched back as if refused in closeness; the tote sighed and slipped down her fingers, going to escape.

“About the purpose of your visit,” Jonathan mumbled, looking to the side with an expression that should’ve seemed careless but it wasn’t. “You work in the bookshop nearby,” she stated.

“Yes.”

“I think, your boss told you to come and ask me not to sit here, not to spoil the sight. It’s fine. Don’t feel awkward about that. I can leave.”

“Oh,” it took some moment to return her senses. “There is no boss. I’m the owner of the shop. And neither I nor my friends mind you being here. Like I’ve told, I feel bad about yesterday’s disaster. You might’ve felt hungry and I’ve wasted so much food just before your eyes. That’s unfair. I wish I could give those groceries to you instead. So here I am, with some provision at hand.”

Jonathan barely resisted a grin, having found Gethin’s flushed face charming. She weighed the tote with her gaze. 

“A few doughnuts may do.”

Jonathan picked up only two of them as if worrying that Gethin could go to bed hungry if she took more. 

-

Gethin still could find her on that spot when the celebration of Halloween started. The kids in grotesque costumes flooded the streets from the late afternoon. Gethin allowed her gaze to linger at the shapes and patterns of fabrics, bizarre makeups, and Halloween styled baskets, carried by those freaky creatures. She wished to see those baskets full of treats. 

Jonathan should have felt the same, watching the crowds from the sidewalk where she had spread her flamingo pink rag. But there should’ve been not only happiness for the kids. Jonathan was an actress – she enjoyed fancy things. She must have had a particular interest in watching the masquerade. Every participant was an actor, after all, having put so much effort into their expressive appearance. 

Jonathan, although dressed carelessly, seemed to be glowing today, so Gethin felt driven to her. She could kind of forget her usual bashfulness in order to step closer to another beautiful human being and share the excitement. 

“Is everything alright?” Jonathan straightforwardly asked her after the warm greeting. 

“Oh, yes,” Gethin let out, guessing the reason for Jonathan’s worrying. 

It was probably because of her eyes, resembling the abyss or the turbid black hole in space. No matter how cheerful and relaxed she was, her eyes were always mirroring another world, full of melancholy and despair. People around just had to get used to it. 

“I’m alright,” she repeated. “But it’s getting hot around. I guess the night won’t be peaceful.”

“Won’t be boring, right?”

“Might be—”

“Dangerous?”

“I fear, yes.”

“Those witches, vampires, zombies, aliens, and fairies can abduct me, I’m aware.”

Gethin chuckled at the joke helplessly. 

“I’m surprised that I don’t participate. Money never mattered to me. I could create a costume from any kind of trash. The past me would’ve been already dancing among these kids. Can you imagine me in skirts and feathers?”

“Oh, sure I can.”

“But I guess there is the new me here, before you. So I’m fine being passive, only watching them all.”

Gethin wondered what should’ve meant “the past me” and “the new me”, but if she asked it could distract her from the reason of her visit, and afterward the anxiety would make her escape. 

“Maybe you could look at them from the window, being in warmth? The weather is quite stern lately.”

“It’s going to winter,” Jonathan mused, on which Gethin answered nothing. “Listen um…I spend a lot of time near your shop. Sorry about that. I know it’s a queer literature shop, by the way. Honestly, I’m not working as a prostitute here.”

Gethin flinched back, so glad to not hold anything in her unfortunate hands. It was a bit frightening to see Jonathan blankly staring into space. 

“I’m not…” Gethin blurted out to break the silence.

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re a nice girl, I can see that. I couldn’t talk to you this long in other case.” 

“I mean…I’m lonely,” Gethin chocked, without any idea why she was now making an idiot from herself. “I would like to talk more and know you better. Only that. I don’t like hints, I just—May I hope that you trust me enough to go visit my shop now? We’ll make a little supper to celebrate. I’m not a fan of monsters, honestly, but it would be nice…to stay inside.”

-

When they entered the house, Gethin made sure to keep distance and hold her hands visible. 

She led Jonathan into the kitchen: not fancy, old, and nice. Jonathan lowered herself at the table, having given the surroundings only a vague glance. The chair creaked welcomingly, and somehow it underlined the tiredness of her body. 

“Can I take a shower?” Jonathan asked wearily, surprised that she managed to voice it at all. Gethin had treated her so kindly – Jonathan’s mind was telling her to not take anything from the girl, not to burden her in any way. But she had dared to speak, and Gethin lit up immediately,

“Sure! You can use as much hot water as you want. And don’t be in a hurry – I’ll be cooking. I enjoy cooking, although my dishes are not…brilliant.”

“Sounds like me,” Jonathan muttered sleepily. “But I like artful dishes. My meals used to look super fancy and they tasted terrible. Maybe because I’m a fan of spice,” she narrowed her eyes at the hot word, but there certainly was a fleur of a joke, so Gethin let herself chuckle. “Actually, I forgot when I’d eaten something nice, apart from the street trash. Oh, but nevertheless tacos and burgers are nice, especially when I have them with cigarettes...”

“Ow, I don’t smoke, unfortunately,” Gethin smiled at Jonathan’s serene glance. 

In a minute after their arrival, Gethin had noticed an odd smell, spreading through the rooms like invisible smoke. It was a tart mix of cigarettes, fire, garbage can, and worn-out dirty clothes. The smell felt somehow familiar, awakening in Gethin’s mind the vivid picture of her, Mike, and the other guys: they had been standing up the whole night before the Parliament House once. 

A little hesitant, Jonathan slipped into the bathroom, leaving Gethin alone with the emptiness and Mike’s voice, pouring inside her head. 

“You’re too faithful and too brave. It’s dangerous for your well-being,” he had warned her after that incident when she had been beaten by the radicals. She’d been looking at him from her bed, laying there whole bruised, but the wounds hadn’t really meant anything for her. She’d been holding Mike’s hand in the fresh coldness of the night; her voice barely shaking. 

The water strings of the shower were pouring soothingly against the steel bathtub and Jonathan's tired body. So, as Mike would say, Gethin has put herself into trouble again. But even if it meant new bruises for her, she'd bear. 

"I can bring some fresh clothes for you. Well, relatively fresh. Pajama trousers and a shirt, maybe?" 

"No, thank you," that thick, rich voice answered from behind the door. "I don't want you to wash them after me."

-

They agreed on a soft bathrobe, long enough to wear on the naked body. It was brown and looked quite dim on Jonathan. The pink or blue would've fit her much better, Gethin noted inwardly.

They stood at the old wooden table; both glances clung to a raffia vase, resting in the middle: red roses and sunflowers, completed with greenery and curly willow branch, weaving around them. Gethin left it as a keepsake of the "Sunflower action", so successfully organized by Mike and with a little bit of her help.

Gethin wondered if Jonathan had seen their team, so colorfully dressed and holding flowers. The sight should've been interesting for her. Anyway…Gethin was taking a few moments near this vase every day because the dark willow branch reminded her of herself and the sunflowers — of Jonathan. 

She wouldn't admit it to her guest, of course, not. There was something else, worth to say aloud, 

"You're blond!" 

"Yep. Blond and curly like Marilyn Monroe. It's just my hair was too greasy."

“I can borrow you my makeup by the way. You said you like it. Honestly, some of the things I’ve bought recently, just because they reminded me of you.”

“Really?” Jonathan said it casually, not wanting to strike Gethin with loud reactions. Gethin wasn’t calm anyway. She could look calm — but inwardly she never was.

“Yes. It’s not a Halloween themed makeup though, only the casual one with um…pastel and nude tones. Angelic makeup, I would say.”

“I think it could be nice for me, to be an angel for Halloween.”

Gethin sighed happily.

“So you can do it. Or I can do it for you.”

Jonathan was too warm and grateful to protest. Soon she was sitting at the table like an enchanted creature: her skin smooth and shining with glitter in the corners of the eyes, lips raspberry pink, the arcs of the brows are distinct and brown. So good she’d done it herself like a professional, not leaving her beautiful face at mercy of Gethin’s clumsy hands. 

“Cute,” Jonathan said after a careful gaze into a mirror that seemed suddenly in place among the spooky Halloween items. 

Gethin grinned widely, feeling victorious as if the makeup was her accomplishment. She slowly raised her hand then, to weave a finger in the air and outline the angles of the Halloween decoration she had arranged about a week ago. It wasn’t something significant, and maybe, the items didn’t fit the raffia vase well.

She had found a piece of dark green satin in a closet and decided to put it under the candle she’d once got as a present. It was a wide candle with the golden-like cross, imprinted on its front. The candle was placed in a steel box, reminding a tomb, with a black steel rose, sticking out from its frame. It has been already lit, and the crowd of little silent pumpkins was surrounding the fire.

“Impressive,” Jonathan praised, leaning towards the tabletop to see better. 

“I’m not doing it every year. A friend has gifted me with all these things. I was cleaning up and decided to finally use them.”

“Give them a purpose in life.”

“I guess so.”

“And dinner. It’s splendid,” Jonathan gestured towards her plate where Gethin had put nothing special: a seared sausage, some cabbages, and the pieces of pink apples to add the color. She would call it “the fall dinner”.

The pumpkins were peeking in the plates, sniffing up the satiating scent of the food, grinning cunningly at Gethin and Jonathan. 

-

Jonathan was going to leave the next morning, but Mark had come over before she got ready. He visited for a cup of tea, and Gethin persuaded Jonathan to stay. 

She was surprised to see that, despite the isolation from "normal" people, her new friend was so talkative and openhearted with the guest — although, Mark was constantly chatting about the need to be one with people, to help them and change the world. 

It gave Gethin hope. Maybe, Jonathan could give up the street life and settle in her rooms, at least for the winter. 

After a week of nervous delay, she braved to find out. The afternoon she spotted Jonathan near that familiar garbage can, she knew she would be damned if she didn’t give it a try right now.  
Jonathan was busy with the package of markers she'd accidentally pick up from the can. Her palm had been already painted in all colors of the rainbow when Gethin invaded her space, clumsily dragging her feet and coughing from the strain in her frightened throat. She had to push a lot of special words from there.

“I know we’re not acquainted for long, only for a couple of months, and I don’t understand you deeply, not yet. But I feel that you’re a kind person. You’re like the sun and I’m drawn to you.”

“Gethin, wait…”

“No, please. I was so nervous the whole week. Now, I must let it out.”

Jonathan went silent. Gethin sucked in a breath and gathered all her shaking courage.

“I think you have a philosophy which makes you live on the street. I know you should enjoy this kind of life at some point. But I am here to ask if you could change your habits a bit and make me a company at the shop. You shouldn’t work there or anywhere. I see that you’re not a scheduled person. I don’t care about that – I only want you to be my friend because you are dear to my heart. I’d like to look after your health and make you comfortable. So—Wouldn’t you mind to move in with me? At least for the fall and winter?”

Jonathan was staring at her, perplexed.

“Geth, I’m not a beatnik,” she sighed, which sounded more like a groan. “I don’t live on the street to add sense into my life. It doesn’t inspire me. What I’m doing is more like falling down, a redemption.”

“Can you explain, please?”

Jonathan gave her a heavy look. Gethin could distinguish the softness in the blueness – Jonathan was never seriously stern, after all – but she froze at the sight of that face, instantly having become so grave. 

“Honestly, I prefer not to recall it. It’s kind of a secret. But okay. You were so sincere to me. I wished to reciprocate,” she paused, and Gethin would never dare to break this trembling silence. “You should’ve already understood that I rarely get work as an actress. I strived to survive and tried myself as a driver. It may be hard to imagine. I had been driving people on a route taxi, from a village to the city and back.”

“Yes, h-hard…Sorry…”

“One damn rainy day I lost control on a turn of the road and the car fell on its side. The hit was terrible. All passengers were brought to the hospital and one of them died. So I spent a couple of years in prison, luckily for me. Now I don’t feel I’m able to return to normal life, after what I’ve done. I had tried, but soon the desire for redemption pulled me out on the street. And I really feel better here. Less guilty.”

“You think those people wish such destiny for you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve stopped pondering. I’ve accepted my guilt — sometimes it even hurts me in a nice way. And I’ve noticed I do feel lighter when I don’t own anything,” she went quiet for a moment, deep in her mind. “Everyday hunger, everyday cold…The bittersweet redemption.”

“So, can’t you go with me?”

“The warm room will be too nice for me. I know, for you I may sound like an egoist, but this style of life I’ve got is the hard-won, really important for me. If you can respect that – please, do respect.”

“Okay,” Gethin answered hoarsely.

Jonathan’s feeling of guilt has been already burning her. Her explanation might have sounded strange, for sure, but Gethin was eager to understand her and accept her as she was. 

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan gently interrupted her thoughts. “You gave me shelter; you bought me makeup and food. I understand you want to care about me and it makes me so pleased.”

Gethin winced when she stood up. Jonathan slowly got closer and gave her a dry kiss on the cheek. Gethin kept looking in front of herself, exhausted and blind.

“But I have my life and I’m glad I’ve become like this. I’ve become myself. I appreciate your loving feelings towards me and I’m sorry for not being able to change my lifestyle for your sake. Geth, you’re so sweet – you totally deserve it. You should know that you deserve everything. It is my failure that I can’t give you what you’re asking.”

Gethin didn’t answer at first. The silence was buzzing in her ears and soon began pressing heavily on her head. Gethin bit her lip to keep a groan. 

Jonathan sighed, watching her face compassionately. 

“I had never been talking for so long before, really,” she tried to joke. 

Each her word was coated in warmness, but the realization of it made Gethin’s throat feel only drier and bitterer. 

“I’m sad that I have to say goodbye now. Unfortunately, that’s all I can do.”

Gethin nodded, still chewing her lips. She even struggled to smile, to reassure Jonathan she’d understood her and that’s alright. 

“Bye,” someone’s voice had spilled into emptiness, and Gethin abruptly turned away.

She stumbled because all kinds of shoes always felt like high heels. When she blinked, the tears finally fell, making her face embarrassingly hot. 

-

The mournful darkness was surrounding Gethin for nearly a week. It felt like a month – the month of sitting at the scratched table of the dim sorrowful kitchen. The ticking of the clock hands seemed endless as well as the flowing of the damp fog clouds behind the windows. 

"Geth...Oh, Geth, you put yourself in trouble," Mike came over two or three times, to settle her down. 

Usually, he stood behind her back and massaged her shoulders while Gethin was staring into nothing, not searching for an answer already but striving to accept what she's got. 

"Darling, look at these splendid wooden shelves around. Look at the pots and mugs you've collected. You made your home so cozy and you belong here," Mike preached thoroughly. "You should be in some comfortable place at least. Don't kick yourself out on the street." 

Gethin kept silence stubbornly, breathing in and out with nervous tension. She was too proud, Mike concluded, and then he lost patience, 

"Geth, why? Are you mad?" 

Gethin caught his gaze and made sure to show all her venom. Of course, she was. So kind and mindful, she was always mad to the core.  
She made up her mind at last. She stood up and let the decision tickle in her insides for a while. 

The old bouquet on the table seemed to seek her attention. The dry roses took the shade of the dark blood. The sunflowers were looking down in exhaustion, having saved only a few of their golden petals. Most of that faded gold was laying near the bottom of the raffia vase, left without a breath. The willow branches still kept their leaves, but they were fair as if frost-covered and would have crumbled after the slightest touch.

-

Gethin rushed out the door. The way to the familiar garbage can took less than two minutes. Thank God, Jonathan didn’t leave her: she was still sitting on the pink blanket, at that same spot, allowing Gethin to find her, although not alone.

A girl with vivid violet lips was standing close to Jonathan, holding her waist. She clearly wasn’t Gipsy. The whiteness of her skin and hair blinded Gethin. Her wide punkie trousers matched the chains, hanging down her neck. The style made her look masculine but, surprisingly, not rude — rather exquisite. 

The girl peered with her fair fish-like eyes while Jonathan was explaining something apologetically, sharping her words with a note of sternness though. Those ghostly hands had finally slipped down her waist and withdrawn, on which Jonathan nodded gloomily, obviously reluctant to talk further. 

Suddenly, the girl kissed her on the lips. Jonathan licked off the violet imprint, and the gesture made Gethin fully realize that they should’ve been intimate once. She wasn’t given the time to guess because the girl then lazily waved goodbye and left. Jonathan hurriedly turned away. 

She seemed to be glad to see Gethin. And it’s good that she smiled immediately or Gethin could just run back to the shop. Not because of jealousy, of course, but only hoping to gather her strength there once more. 

“Hello,” Jonathan has already greeted her, so Gethin hadn’t another choice except approaching her. 

“Hi, Jonathan.”

Gethin struggled to appear cheerful for a reason. They haven’t seen each other for a week because of Gethin’s depression. Jonathan could decide that Gethin didn’t want to see her anymore. It wasn’t true. So Gethin fought to soften the awkwardness, having put the sincere, open expression on her face.

“You’re mad at me probably,” Jonathan didn’t take it. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“You should know something. That girl was sort of…my client. She’d been once, I mean. I tried many possible ways to earn money. Giving my body to other people was one of them. I’ve already quit that, so I refused to go with her. But not because of the moral reasons…”

“It’s dangerous.”

“Yes. Perhaps, you’ve already figured that I like people. I like to be around them, to grasp their attention, to touch them. But I’m not too careless for putting the other’s health at risk, so—There’s a strange bruising on my body, prompting me that it would be better not to sleep with anyone anymore.”

“Ow,” Gethin shakily exhaled.

“But as for that girl, I chose not to go with her mainly because of you. I haven’t seen you for long, Geth. I worried. Every day I hoped you’d come out, so I had to be there – to wait for you,” Jonathan looked into her face; Gethin, although flushed and with a bit of tears, didn’t turn away. 

She became even more solid in her decision. Maybe it was despair, making her so restless, but anyway, if she stepped back now, she would struggle to forgive herself for years. 

“I’ll go with you,” Gethin blurted out.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you can’t change your lifestyle for my sake. It’s fine. You asked to respect that. I do.”

Puzzled and already worrying, Jonathan was quietly nodding at her words. 

“I decided. I can do it. I can leave my shop and join you here.” 

“No, it’s…It’s quite ridiculous, Geth. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I was pondering about it for a while. It’s not an impulsive decision. Don’t be shocked.”

“Well, if you’re serious – I’m shocked.”

“I am. But I’m responsible for my words. I understand that life outside is harsh, especially when it’s cold. I’ll bear it. I’ll lock my shop and go with you, so we can be together. If you want to.”

“I do?”

“It’s fine if you don’t want my company here. I won’t think that you don’t love me.”

“Oh, I…I just need…to catch a breath.”

“I’m sorry for startling you.”

“But how—? How about your family?”

“They’re far away. I’m independent. I hope mom will understand if she finds out. And my friends should support me.”

“They’ll hate me.”

“They know I won’t choose a person who doesn’t deserve everything. You do.”

“You sound confident. I need time…to process.”

Gethin breathed in. She’s done what she could. So, for now, it might’ve been better to slow down and stop frighten Jonathan so much. She needed to compose herself, to return her usual humbleness. Nothing’s changed sufficiently. They were alright.

“Yes. I think we may have…about five days to calm down. So you’ll see I’ve not become crazy. I’m in the right state of mind, really,” she chuckled but Jonathan didn’t follow.  
Gethin’s glance caressed her face. Soon she went back to the shop. Thoughts fell on Jonathan then, dim and heavy like the twilights of that day. 

-

Gethin didn’t want to run into her old acquaintances, so they decided to left Jonathan’s place near the garbage can.

Moving to the new streets felt unusual and Gethin’s presence — surreal. 

After the night in the tent, they were walking together, shoulder to shoulder. Gethin didn’t wear the stylish clothes she used to. Last morning she came to Jonathan in the simple dark trousers, slim wind jacket, and red wool cap. She’d taken a backpack with some sandwiches and a thermos — a present from a friend — filled with hot tea. Jonathan quietly packed the tent and bedclothes, and thus they left. 

The pale rays of the afternoon sparkled in the clouds of fog while they kept going, searching for the new shelter. The previous one was surrounded by dogs' barking and drunk swearing, which made Gethin shiver the whole night. She should’ve been also sobbing. Jonathan gingerly asked about that in the morning, but Gethin soothed her with a gentle crooked smile,

“I’m alright. I’m okay.”

-

Gethin had mentally prepared herself for any difficulties, and seeking for the stranger’s help was one of them. Her backpack emptied swiftly because Jonathan was the person who enjoyed life here and now. The rule didn’t work for general, considering her extremely poor state, but it related to pleasant casual things like food, drinks, or cigarettes. Jonathan had tasted Gethin’s sandwiches with sincere joy, apparently not burdened by the grievous thought that it could be her last meal. 

The further meal should’ve been hard-won, and Gethin felt she’d rather die than beg for money. Thank God, Jonathan has learned less extreme ways of surviving which Gethin would’ve called “the friendly ways”.

“I know one guy from a restaurant in Bromley. He would not mind our visit,” Jonathan said and grasped Gethin’s cold hand. 

Soon Gethin was watching her talk with a man at the small restaurant which they had found on the gray backstreet. She guessed he might’ve been a chief or a chief’s assistant. The man had vivid Caucasian appearance, but his northern accent was sounding so pure that Gethin got no doubt his family should’ve lived in London for decades.

“We have some chicken breasts left,” the man had smiled cheerfully before pulling out a kitchen cloth to wipe the spots of dust from Jonathan’s puffy jacket. Jonathan giggled, watching his hands and not at all resenting the contact. After the fast cleanup, the man returned to the point of food. “The breasts are soaked in lemon and garlic.”

“I can feel it. Smells so spicy.”

“Yes. I thought about you while cooking it, by the way. Jonathan would like the crustiness and the peppers, I thought.”

“So nice of you, mate.”

Gethin lowered her head, fighting the nervous flush when the man’s gaze lingered on her. 

“It’s not precisely fresh,” he noted apologetically. “But it should be nice.”

“Thanks for the lunch.”

Jonathan had chuckled and tugged at his apron just slightly before the man turned to the kitchen counter to fetch some plastic boxes for them. 

-

The morning had been crispy, so after lunch they decided to taste the tea from the thermos. Gethin had taken her favorite – the tart black with the strong ginger flavor. There wasn’t any other cup, only the one attached to the thermos, which meant Jonathan had to apologize in advance,

“You’re gonna taste not only the tea now. I fear I’ve spoiled it with myself. I’m sorry.” 

Gethin made a sip. The deliciousness should’ve been mixed with the smell of Jonathan’s mouth, not washed probably for several months. It wasn’t because she’d got depression, Jonathan would’ve said; she’d given up the hygiene rather out of her natural childish carelessness. Gethin thought about that, gulped down the strange liquid, and then suddenly chuckled. 

-

Jonathan’s guilt was pouring on her lightly, and they both were trying to cope: Gethin by smiling despite crying and Jonathan by giving advice ever so calmly. They had planned to settle under the bridge for the night, but the weather promised to be nice, so Jonathan offered to look for a narrow backstreet, secured from the wind and possible company. 

“We’ll try to find something not smelly,” Jonathan said, carefully peeking at Gethin now and then, checking if she wasn’t walking too limply. 

“No, it’s okay,” Gethin grinned. “I’ve never been scared of germs anyway. Not particularly. And as about outdoor smells, I think I’ll just get used to them. It’s a little problem.”

She was kind enough to look only at the overall picture. Finally, they started to live side by side, and daily inconveniences didn’t really matter. 

Jonathan noticed that something went wrong when they had stopped in the backstreet. Gethin propped the unruly textured wall, sharp and damp to the touch; the mute blackness of her gaze dissolved in the surrounding dimness. 

“There’s a club we’ve passed recently—” she risked to try. “This area awakens in me the sorrowful memory. I’d been to that place quite often about two years ago. I’m not the club person but I have been struggling to be, so hard.”

“Why have you?”

“Well, not to free my spirit…Khm. Sometimes I go to parties when they are for charity. It’s fine, it inspires me. But to go dance just for fun—I can’t. There’s no way I can rest in such places,” she lifted her gaze up wearily as if feared Jonathan’s reaction. “I had been to the clubs regularly and I’d bear them because, like I said, I was lonely. I had tried so many things and I’d been waiting for so long. I soothed myself by hoping that I could find love at least there, that I was doing at least something because living without my second half seemed to be a nightmare.”

Gethin abruptly went silent. The wrinkle of anguish lay between her brows. Jonathan had been watching with her breath held before she realized that Gethin wouldn’t snap if she interrupted, 

“What came of that? I mean, could you find someone nice?”

The depths of those eyes became dreadful.

“I did everything they wanted. Maybe I was the same as a whore but without passion to sex or money—I only hoped to find someone,” she whined in a high voice, and the tears stood in her eyes helplessly, dampening the lashes. 

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan groaned because there was nothing else to say. 

Gethin rubbed her eyelids. She meant to sound stern, matter-of-factly, but of course, her body totally betrayed her. 

“After that I can’t bear when people try to tease me. When they call me hot or flirty and say that I dress well because I’m going to pick up girls. Oh, I’m not,” she gasped at the end. 

“I don’t think anything indecent about you, Geth.”

“I’m sorry if it was hard for you to listen.”

“I’m glad you told me, so now I know.”

“Yes. We’ve finally got time to talk,” Gethin muttered to her shadow on the ground.

“We can leave right now. The bridge isn’t so far, you’ll manage. I watched your pace — you’re strong.”

“Oh, thanks, dear. But I’ll manage to stay here either. There’re only the ghosts of my past.”

When they went for a walk, Jonathan took the tent, ready to hear that Gethin didn’t want to return. It would be fine. Maybe Gethin would even enjoy the night on the Thames’ beach despite the weather.

She stumbled, frozen, when they suddenly ran into the guys she’d met before in Gethin’s shop. They should’ve been Mike and Mark, and they looked as if they’d been literally running, out of breath. 

“Oh, Geth!” Mike exclaimed, not trying to hide his wide-eyed stare. “Your shop was closed and you’re nowhere around!”

He cleared his throat, winced, attempted to return his glasses and hat in order. Mark grabbed his wrist softly. 

“We were hanging around there, luckily,” he explained with a strained smile. “And it’s nice to meet you here, girls, cause we were worrying.”

“We didn’t know where you had gone,” Mike stared straight into Gethin’s face; the nervous tension spilled out, completely ruining the illusion of light-hearted talk. 

Of course, they hadn’t been walking there out of leisure, Jonathan figured out immediately. They should’ve been desperately patrolling the streets, frightened for their friend. 

“Are you alright, Gethin?” Mark asked gingerly.

“I am.”

Jonathan felt their eyes on her. The glances didn’t seem blaming or disgusted though. Mike and Mark were Gethin’s good friends, so they knew she wouldn’t drop everything to leave with an indecent person. Jonathan couldn’t find what to say but she has already sensed the respect and even gratitude which Mark and Mike were kind enough to experience towards her. 

“I am really fine. We were walking with Jonathan, breathing the night air. And now we’re going to rest. We’ll sleep in the tent.”

“May we be…your guests for today?”

“We’ll spend the night in the backstreet,” Gethin answered simply, without sternness. She held back a chuckle then, so it went out like a puff of air. “I understand you, guys. Thank you. Maybe sometime later I’ll be glad to share with you my new surroundings. But not now, okay? Now I feel that I want to be alone – just with Jonathan. It doesn’t mean I feel bad. I’m not cutting you off.”

“Alright,” Mike muttered. “We can’t push you, certainly.”

Mark was awkwardly silent, regretting so much that he hasn’t got a box with hot pizza or sandwiches, or anything he could present to his friend for making sure that Gethin’s night wouldn’t be hungry. But he’d been too anxious to predict things, so his hands turned out to be empty. He let out hoarsely, 

“Well, take care then. Wish you a calm night.”

“Likewise,” Gethin solemnly nodded. She shouldn’t have looked so tired. 

-

Jonathan worried that despite their mutual desire for closeness they barely touched each other. Jonathan used to be tactile in her past. But after she’d first suspected having a disease, she went through hard times and her habits changed. Gradually, she started to assume herself dangerous and therefore learned to avoid contact at all costs.

They were walking together, so near, and Jonathan felt she couldn’t give Gethin her touch: not even a pat or a light hug. Gethin might have understood her fright and, although they didn’t discuss it, she must’ve been hurt. Jonathan didn’t dare to specify but Gethin’s story about hanging out in clubs hinted that she wasn’t a distant person: she needed to be held, a hug, and a kiss, and Jonathan should’ve been damned for not giving her what she deserved. 

But then those dizzily deep, gothic eyes mesmerized Jonathan, freezing her with the impression that the touch could cradle Gethin as well as it could wound her.

-

Jonathan woke up in cold sweat, again. The fabric of her shirt was soaked, and her heart was soundly beating, mixing with the tune of raindrops, prickling at the thin layers of their tent. The slick feeling of snots on her chin prompted that the nostrils would burn if she tried to inhale. 

Gethin wasn’t laying in her arms, luckily. The contact could bring warmness to their bodies, but these days Jonathan wasn’t feeling she’s got anything to share except germs and stink. Gethin didn’t react emotionally. The short explanation that Jonathan might’ve been ill had been enough. Gethin had nodded pensively and looked calm afterward. On the other hand, Jonathan had noticed that she always looked calm from aside, and sometimes it was rather frightening. 

Gethin stirred after Jonathan’s cough. She wearily turned around to see Jonathan’s face. Her gaze was absorbing; her body seemed heavy with sleepiness and all the clothes she’d had to put on. 

“Good morning,” Jonathan said, although the morning had met them with the cold dampness of autumn fog. 

“Morning. How are you?”

Jonathan shook her shoulders.

“Not bad, thank you. I hope I wasn’t making sounds.”

“Maybe the small sounds,” Gethin smiled; her eyes were painfully red under the dark arches of lashes. “They didn’t disturb me,” she sounded as if excusing herself, not for the first time, and Jonathan didn’t quite like it.

“And how are you feeling?” she asked because, considering how radically Gethin has changed her life, this question was needed every day. “Still feeling dirty?”

“I’m sticky. As if the night was hot like in summer. It definitely wasn’t.”

Despite the winter clothes, she was covered in three layers of blankets. She had to sweat but her hands were always so cold. 

-

Jonathan feared the changes in her behavior: Gethin became slow; she hardly reacted to Jonathan’s words, and her answers, if they came, usually were going out with a struggle as if some barrier was holding them in Gethin’s head. 

She often had to sit or lay lately – Jonathan let her, of course, and then she was tensely watching those dark watering eyes, surrounded by the bloats of bruised skin and absently staring into nowhere. 

Gethin could possibly smile gently, like before. But right now, her smile was bitter and crippled; the lips turned into a dry, crispy, grievous line. She gasped suddenly, close to sobbing, but before Jonathan could reach her, the weary softness had been again on her face. New environment has exhausted her so badly. Jonathan did realize how terribly uncomfortable she was feeling every second of her being, left without a chance to keep hygiene. 

She cried sometimes but those emotions were always kind: they were the sparkles of sensitivity, looming from her inner self. And sure, she never complained, neither those days she had been forced to drink from the puddles, nor when a homeless man had tried to harass them, stopped only by Jonathan’s cruelly chill warning that she and Gethin were HIV-positive. 

-

“I think you shouldn’t wash in the river anymore. It’s the middle of November. Really cold.”

Gethin gave a meek smile at this recommendation. Jonathan had to forgive herself once more for letting Gethin spill the Theme’s water over her head. Nevertheless, it had seemed that the feeling of the river’s freshness might have brightened Gethin’s mood.

“I’m gonna go out and search for some food for us. Do you want to join me?” Jonathan asked carefully. She used to be straightforward about her thoughts and desires. Lately, she has noticed how her language was changing in Gethin’s presence – consciously or not, she considered she might’ve hurt Gethin. 

She was going to drag Gethin out of the tent. But she didn’t dare to put it like that. 

She didn’t get the nod she’d anticipated. Gethin bowed her head pensively instead, quietly brushing her glance across the blanketed floor, and only after a minute of stillness she replied,

“I think I’d like to stay here. It’s not very cozy but—I have no energy left these days. So I better will be laying on the blankets…Won’t slow down your pace. Won’t spoil your time in a company.”  
Jonathan didn’t like this answer as well as the humble expression on the face she loved. She stepped closer to reach Gethin’s forehead. It felt hot. Again. 

-

“Look what I found!” Jonathan slipped into the tent, beaming. The sight of her was so pleasing that Gethin couldn’t leave it without a grin. 

Jonathan unfolded the pink shiny fabric which appeared to be a winter coat — thick, cashmere, luxurious. Gethin opened her mouth in delight, then tried to sit, careful not to disturb her pained neck and head. 

She didn’t like that disease was taking so much of her attention. She wanted to devote far more energy to Jonathan and their relationship. Physical pain wasn’t important. 

Meanwhile, Jonathan put the clothes on. Although the coat was fairly big and maybe too feminine, it fit her nicely; the color matched her blond curls, creating a glamorous look. 

“If there’s more space here I would dance in this rug. I’d like to show you the new moves which had come to my mind while I was playing with a homeless kitty,” Jonathan shook off the coat and handed it to Gethin. 

“I’ll look ridiculous in it.”

Gethin put on a timid face, struggling to spare herself from the torture of attention, but Jonathan was implacable. She grinned gratefully when Gethin straightened up, already enveloped in kitsch pink shine.

“I think a hat will fit here prettily. A pink one with a feather.”

Gethin dropped her gaze into the floor, hoping that Jonathan will understand her silence right: she’s embarrassed but not hurt. That’s, of course, not considering her head and her neck, and the fact she was close to vomiting. She had to get used to such state, exhausting her the whole month. She knew that Jonathan was no better, after all. 

Although she didn’t talk about it, she’d noticed how pale and dizzy Jonathan was, especially after the winter cold had come. She’d noticed how Jonathan had been wobbling sometimes, had propped her body on the walls, had blinked rapidly and firmly, while assuring that her head was spinning only a little bit. She’d noticed how often Jonathan had woke up at night, soaked in sweat, and how she had headed outside, crouched from the painful cramps of nausea. 

“Do you want to play cards?” 

The coat has been already abandoned in the corner of the tent.

“I mean, not a game, actually,” Jonathan rummaged in the pocket of her jacket. It was a deck of colorful cards she’d searched for, and after a minute she playfully swayed them before Gethin’s face. “I can tell some things about you with the help of these cards. I found them among the garbage, of course, so some might’ve been missing, but I decided, whatever.” 

Gethin chuckled, reminded of the day when a Gypsy woman asked if she wanted to be told about her fortune. Jonathan seemed to have read that thought.

“It won’t be about your fate, Geth. Think of it as a psychological test. It can inspire you to pay attention to some things in your inner or outward world. To ponder about them for use or just for fun.”

“I’m nervous. But doing it for fun would be nice.”

Jonathan winked, and then shuffled the cards. 

-

The tiny particles of snow traveled in the sprays of winter wind, damping the air and prickling the frost-bitten faces of the hurrying people. Christmas Eve was at hand. Gethin could guess it from the decorations, trees, costumes, and excited greetings around. 

Gethin continued to sit on the frosty pavement despite Jonathan’s pleading to move. Her drumming head threatened to burst and fall from her shoulders if she tried. So she held herself in place, held her temples, squeezing the skull to make it hurt dully, which served like a distraction from the sharp pain, tearing the hole in her brain.

“Hey, Geth!”

She couldn’t distinguish whether the voice was real or created by her miserable mind. She raised her gaze anyway. 

Jonathan was waving a piece of paper before her face, and Gethin inwardly begged her not to say anything informative. She could barely stand the sight of the letters because they desired to be read and anticipated an adequate reaction. There was no use in making her learn or memorize. 

“Dear, we’ve got a present for Christmas!” Jonathan exclaimed. “Some couple came across me an hour ago. We chatted a bit and then they kindly gave me a voucher for the night in a hotel. The room is for two, so we’ll share it. It will be the best Christmas ever!”

Gethin caught herself on the thought that she liked when Jonathan gave childish promises. It felt like they both turned into kids and could dream about whatever they wanted. It’s fine that they wouldn’t get it. Dreaming was magic itself. 

Jonathan’s hand warmed her shoulder, caressing it compassionately. 

“Hey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Geth. I see how you’re suffering. Please, don’t think that I don’t notice. My heart breaks when I look at you, so ill. If only I could heal you. I wish we weren’t homeless, so doctors would treat you well in a hospital.”

She raised her hand to give that hollow cheek a soft caress. Gethin leaned closer. Her eyes were like an endless winter night.

“Ow, you’ve got a present, too,” Jonathan tilted her head towards a plastic bowl, filled with generously salted French fries. A teenager had placed the dish in front of Gethin, soundlessly crouched, and it has been resting near her feet for about an hour. “People are so kind sometimes,” Jonathan mused.

She took one oily slice and tentatively licked it before biting. 

“It’s delicious! And the whole portion is yours, Geth. Yours and nobody else’s!”

“Thanks,” Gethin finally managed.

Her stomach was empty, except for some rubbish she had found among the garbage in the morning. The sight and smell of the potato made her remember the usual now urge to vomit. She wouldn’t. The slices should’ve tasted good in her mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to try at least one merely because it felt like a too hard task for her brain. 

-

The hotel room was lit with light and flooded with warmth. Jonathan’s cheerful voice echoed in Gethin’s ears like the chatter of the spring birds. 

Gethin nodded at the offer to rest on the bed. That bed mesmerized her immediately – so huge, solid, and welcoming; the breathing of cotton sheets, the softness of the billowy blanket. 

She lay down carefully. Then she realized she couldn’t understand whether Jonathan was near or somewhere else. Her mind grew weak, folding her beloved in the covers of dull darkness. Her body became heavy as if it had put down roots which chained her, pressed her hard into the white wool cotton. Then the light of thought switched off and she was thrown into the chasm of black water—

Jonathan saw she’d fallen asleep, all the better. The rest was needed. She knew that after three brave months of living outside Gethin still couldn’t relax without protection which only home might’ve given.

She rummaged a bit in the room, looking for some snacks, but there was no refrigerator and all the shelves appeared to be empty. “It’s okay,” Jonathan soothed her throbbing hunger. They could just enjoy the dryness and warmness of the room, the coziness of the furniture.

She lowered herself at Gethin’s side, then glanced along the wall. The round clock in the beige frame was peeking at them compassionately. Jonathan focused on the black sequence of numbers, solemnly waiting the midnight as she’d decided it would’ve been convenient to celebrate Christmas and New Year in one go.

Gethin didn’t wake up before midnight. She didn’t stir after midnight either. 

The real fright came in the morning. From the window, the world looked merciful, shining, and as warm as it could be during the season. Gethin was still drowning in deep sleep. 

“Geth. Geth, Geth!” Jonathan called with a swallowed heart. “Hey, please,” Jonathan almost whined while gingerly caressing her side. 

Gethin’s forehead was hot to the touch. Jonathan washed her face with a damp towel — nothing helped to get any reaction from that tired hands, from that still face.

Gethin didn’t make any sounds, so Jonathan unzipped her thick jacket and pressed the palm against the chest which felt like the sharp tissue of heaving ribs. Gethin was breathing and her heart, thank God, was beating. 

Jonathan wasted no time running to the lobby to call an ambulance. 

She was astonished to see Gethin conscious again. It looked like she woke up when Jonathan rushed out for the phone. The glance of those night eyes was directed at Jonathan, but somehow she doubted Gethin had realized what’s happening. She was still heavy with sleep, far from leaving the shadowy world of dreams. 

“I’m okay,” she slurred, and this voice assured Jonathan that a doctor was really, painfully needed. 

-

It was hard to find adequate help in the hospital, just like she had expected. She feared the poor attitude of the doctors which could push Gethin away from this place, although she was barely paying attention to anything around. 

Being homeless for years, Jonathan had learned not to assume herself less worthy than others: she was proud of what she's achieved, yet she couldn't change other people. They might've easily hurt Gethin. She thought so at least, but then she forced herself to remember how much inner strength Gethin obtained. 

Jonathan should have found Ellie — the wizard looking girl she'd been talking with near the trash can. She had rich parents, who both were doctors, and this detail might've done nothing good to Gethin as well as it could save her. Jonathan managed to call Ellie from the hospital. Then Gethin muttered Mike's number, so Jonathan didn't waste the chance to get more support. 

Soon their friends were there. Mike took Mark with him and together they did almost all the work, talking to the staff and convincing them to provide Gethin with all possible care: free, affordable, or pricey. Gethin was allowed to rest on a hospital bed while waiting for the checkup. The room was full of other patients but she seemed too exhausted to notice anything around. She fell asleep from the feeling of a bed, and a pillow, and the clean sheets under her body. It didn't calm Jonathan at all, considering what had happened in the hotel.

Jonathan took a seat at the bed, ready to guard Gethin as long as she would be allowed. She felt too sick to relax and didn’t flinch when the familiar thin hand lowered on her shoulder. 

“Alright?” Ellie asked in a low voice, eyeing Gethin as if she was estimating her appearance. 

“Yes,” Jonathan made an effort not to be offended. 

“They think she’s got brain fever. The nurse is going to give her painkillers through IV. She’ll need a lot.”

Jonathan nodded gloomily. The pain of guilt was overcoming her, and she struggled to stay sane. Gethin needed her sane. 

“Then corticosteroids. They’ll calm down the fever.”

“I wish I had money.”

“Well, I’m here. I can help if you want,” her cat-like eyes narrowed. It wasn’t in the least hard for Jonathan to understand what she meant. 

“I can’t, Ellie. Not anymore,” she moaned miserably. 

“If you’re talking about money, please, leave it to me,” Mark stood between them, to Jonathan’s huge relief. “Gethin is well-known in our community. I’ll gather people and explain our situation to them.”

Mike stopped behind him. Mark sensed his presence and turned around anxiously. “Why not? Can’t I?!” he cried with his eyes only. Mike grasped his elbows.

“What are you supposed to do, Jonathan?” Ellie’s voice rustled in her left ear. “Going to let Gethin stay here? Or you think she’ll be able to return on the street with you?”

“Jonathan,” Mark said pointedly. “I’ll bring you a lot of money, I promise. Please, don’t let Gethin die. She’s so strong but she shouldn’t freeze outside in winter. It will ruin her!” 

Mark went silent instantly after he’d noticed that Gethin was blinking at the light from the window. There were other patients in the room, crowding it with sounds, smells, and emotions, so Jonathan feared if Gethin wouldn’t collapse again, overstrained by the heavy atmosphere. 

-

“Thanks for bringing me here, Jonathan. I’m feeling much better now,” Gethin muttered fuzzily as soon as their friends left. 

“It’s because of the painkillers,” Jonathan wondered where her emotions have gone. 

“I hope I’ll be fine without them too, after a few days. We can’t afford medication, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan glided her fingers over that exhausted veiny forearm. Gethin raised her eyes to catch Jonathan’s glance. She looked heavy and numb, and as if she was even incapable to lift her hand from the bed. 

“Doctors will do everything possible to heal me. Well, it’s considering our situation…And then I can join you on the street again.”

Gethin said that faintly, almost in a whisper, and Jonathan felt how her eyes began to burn, watering relentlessly.

“You don’t have to—” she choked on a whine. 

“I want to,” Gethin cut off. “If it is a way to stay with you, I won’t miss my chance.”

Jonathan paused because she had to wipe her cheeks. Tears dampened her face after she’d blinked.

“I’ll probably need to return here time after time. But I remember that you don’t like doctors, so I won’t—They won’t let me in without payment anyway,” Gethin sighed with that frightful calmness.

Her thought sounded ridiculous, so Jonathan couldn’t decide how to argue. The disagreement could upset Gethin even more.

“Ellie said–Never mind. You need a lot of rest. I think you need to return home,” she said instead. “And we should make nice conditions for you. There’s no way you’re remaining on the street. Not a single word about it. Please.”

“No. It’s like you’re seducing me. No.”

“I’m going to stay inside with you. In your shop. If you don’t mind, of course,” Jonathan added awkwardly and immediately regretted: Gethin hated when her feelings were put at doubt. 

“But how can you? What about your redemption? It’s important. What about people who had suffered?” 

Jonathan swallowed heavily. Her soul ached, but she was grateful that God or whoever it was had helped her to overthink her path. 

“If I make you suffer or if you die because of me, it will be so much worse. This I won’t ever forgive myself.”

Gethin didn’t answer, viewing her mildly. 

“I want to settle in the shop with you. I’ve asked Mark — it’s still in your possession and nobody has ruined the house. Mike made sure to check time after time. So we’ll turn on heating and you’ll rest in your bed as long as you will need. How does it sound?”

Gethin nodded.

“I will need money to care about you properly, so I’ll find some work.”

“But it’s against your lifestyle. You don’t want to work.”

“I want to know that I do everything possible to make you better. It’s enough inspiration for me to try. Besides…” Jonathan clasped her hands on a sudden wave of animation. “I used to work, I used to do a lot of different things. I think I’ve missed it at some point. I’m ready to return.”

“Well. I hope you’re sincere with yourself. I’ll be glad if you find the work to your liking,” Gethin tried to chuckle, but from the wrinkles on her face Jonathan could tell that a hit of headache had broken her intention. 

-

After that day Gethin repeated about one hundred times that Jonathan shouldn’t have to do the things she didn’t want to. Gethin loved her unconditionally. And she was proud of Jonathan, always.

Jonathan was happy to finally see Gethin in her cozy bed. The sight reminded her of the surreal Halloween night they’ve spent together. 

As promised, Mark called their friends, LGBT-activists, and people who merely wanted to help. Together they raised a sum, enough to keep Gethin for a few months. Mark claimed that he didn’t make as good as he’d expected, and after some time he was going to bring more. His energy lit the shop; it infected Gethin and Jonathan with idea that something good should have waited for them. 

With Mark’s money, they could afford corticosteroids for Gethin, to reduce the inflammation of the brain. Jonathan had also bought her some vitamins and nice food, nothing else, yet their finances quickly went short. Gethin has barely got the medicines as a result, and the recovery depended mostly on her will and God’s help. 

-

Suddenly, Jonathan got a role to play — such an event occurred about once in three months. Gethin was so upset she couldn’t attend and be Jonathan’s fan number one. 

The performance went great, but in the evening she disliked the feeling of relief after spending the day apart from Gethin. Maybe, she wanted to breathe air a little more, having had the month of confinement. The frustrating thoughts dissolved when she imagined the conversation in their bedroom – she’d like to describe the whole event, and Gethin should’ve been fascinated to listen. 

“I’m so happy you’ve got the role, Jonathan. I’ll repeat it again and again,” Gethin said, looking at her with oh so flattering adoration. “After all you’ve gone through, you totally deserved it. And also you needed the time outside, away from this place.”

“No, Geth, I—”

“It’s okay! You’re an outdoor person. You used to spend days on your own, used to freedom. I like it. I want you to have a nice time, like before. I won’t think that you don’t need me, promise!”  
Jonathan’s chest softened after those words and she sighed. 

“I’m glad you’re not dramatic about that.”

“I’m not. I’m a smart girl.”

“You’re probably tired of hearing it but I’ve enjoyed every bit of that role. It should’ve been the right decision to give up the cleaning job for rehearsals.” 

“The cleaning job was nice.”

“Yea. But I still think I’d rather test on myself the drugs of that clinic instead of mopping its corridors. Such kind of job must’ve brought us more money. And it’d be more interesting,” Jonathan stopped and giggled at the frown on Gethin’s face. “Kidding.”

“You’re full of dangerous ideas.”

“Still—I have a feeling—” Jonathan mused, absorbing the endless melancholy from Gethin’s dark glance. “I feel that they won’t call me again soon, to play. So I was thinking about how to earn. I like the idea of medical experiments more than driving a route taxi…Okay, let’s be serious, we need me to be healthy.”

“Sure. No more experiments with health.”

“So I recalled my old craft – the one in which I’d been pretty successful. Prostitution,” she said quietly but not too quietly because Gethin wasn’t a person who would shame her. 

“Oh, I remember Ellie. I still didn’t thank her for her help in the hospital.”

“You don’t need to. She doesn’t like politeness. She’s too proud.”

“Okay...So what were you going to say, about prostitution?” 

“I could try it, though I don’t look like I used to before homelessness. I’ll be cheap.”

“Jonathan, you—”

“No, it’s alright! I need to at least treat my rotten teeth. But it’ll take so much money¬¬—Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to say,” Jonathan lowered her head in a sudden need to hide from Gethin and thus to save her from being hurt. As it often occurred, Jonathan’s straightforward confessions had to struck and wound her. 

“What happened?”

“I didn’t say not only because I feared your reaction. It’s about me – I longed to forget about my misfortunes. To chat, to play, to change appearances, and be happy!”

“You needed to take your mind off something?”

“Yes.”

“But not off my condition?”

Jonathan bit her lip, pondering. She didn’t plan the explanation in advance for the simple reason: she didn’t desire to remind herself of the grief. But now came the time to be strong for Gethin. 

“I’d been to hospital, before the regular rehearsals started. I’d doubted a lot and finally decided to get tested. It was Mike’s idea, honestly. He was convincing me for a long time and helped to organize the check-up.”

“He’s incredible.”

“Yes. So I gave them my blood. The test showed I’m HIV-positive. Well, I don’t want to make a tense pause here. We had suspected it. I don’t know much about my diagnosis. But after all those things we’ve gone through I’m not in a panic.”

Gethin was listening. She barely nodded, and luckily, Jonathan didn’t notice on her face the signs of the usual migraine. Her eyes seemed to warm up instead.

“Okay,” to her astonishment, Jonathan caught a note of gratefulness in Gethin’s voice. “The news made me nervous. But I am not terrified. I also think that we can deal with the disease together.”

“You’re not mad at me for not talking to you immediately?”

“No. I think I have no energy for being mad,” Gethin chuckled, not unkindly, and Jonathan desperately hoped that the pain wouldn’t interrupt her timid laugh. 

-

Gethin felt stronger in the evening when the rooms were smeared and lit with cheerful orange. She stood up by herself and wobbled to the kitchen, also generously painted by the rays of diminishing light. 

Jonathan was making pancakes on the stove, muttering some old melodies and trying to toss the dough in a pan, accompanying its leaps with dramatic whistle. The dry bouquet of sunflowers and roses was proudly remaining on its place, gleaming in the evening cooking coziness. 

Gethin seated herself on a chair. Jonathan turned around at the sound because she’d stumbled and knocked the chair’s leg with her foot, clumsy as usual. 

“I want to read a book,” Gethin said. “I think I didn’t turn a single page in a year.”

**Author's Note:**

> English isn’t my first language – isn’t even the second…I’ll be so grateful if you point out the mistakes in this story, friends, and thus help me to make it better ;)


End file.
